To Mrs. Deitch:

I'm a little embarrassed to write you this letter. I don't really know you. I never met you. But they say you want to hear about your son.

I'm not going to say I was Nossons' best friend. I probably was not. I'm not even going to say I knew Nosson all that well. I didn't know his birthday or even his age until I heard in disbelief the terrible news. I can only tell you how I knew Nosson.

Nosson thought, Nosson felt, Nosson smiled, Nosson laughed, Nosson ran, Nosson danced, Nosson jumped, and Nosson used to call me on my birthday. Nosson used to call me to say hey what's up. Nosson gave me a Gutnick haggadah out of the blue one Pesach. Nosson wanted to talk to me about life. Nosson made me comfortable when I landed in yeshiva kayitz in Morristown, the Summer 6 years ago. Nosson convinced me to come with him to yeshiva in Staten Island. Nosson used to bring a whole chabura of guys to Arad when he knew I was alone for Shabbos. Nosson came to visit me when I was living alone in Brooklyn. Nosson used to learn Tanya with me on the phone. Nosson always answered the phone when I called him. Nosson always left a message when I didn't answer his call. Nosson was generous. Nosson was kind. Nosson was humble. Nosson was Chassidish. Nosson made me his friend even though Nosson had a lot of friends.

Nosson Deitch was my best friend and will always be an inspiration to me.

It is with great humility that I offer my condolences.
המקום ינחם אתכם בתוך שער אבלי ציון וירשלים

Respectfully,

Sholom Yitchok Babayov